When He Was Twenty
by TheJesusFreak777
Summary: "The end is near and he knows, but he'll be damned if he's going to let it slow him down." The last moments of Fred Weasley. One-shot.


**A/N: I'm honestly a huge fan of one-shots, and my last one-shot, His Brother, received the most views and visitors of any one of my stories in one day this month. I'm extremely thankful for this. So…I'm going to keep up writing one-shots? I'll still be updating my multi-chapters (except for maybe the ones on hiatus). So please read and review!**

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He was twenty when the world crashed down on top of him.

Pity. He knew it a life free of stress and pain would be a bit more enjoyable. Too bad everything was fucked up at the moment.

When he was twenty, the world crashed down on top of him. That sounded much better to him than the previous sentence, if he were writing his autobiography. In his mind he wonders why anyone would want to read any kind of horseshit he wrote. He's certain that Mum would see it and shake her head, Percy would give an exaggerated sigh and scold him, and Hermione would frown. He thinks that Ron, Harry, Dad, Bill, and Charlie would read it. And certainly George. It would be a pity if George didn't read it. Hell, the thing would be dedicated to George.

No, he thinks he likes the other phrase better.

He was twenty when the world crashed down on top of him. Smothering. Trapping. Painful to bear.

Dammit, Fred, you're making it sound like death isn't any fun.

How would he know? He doesn't, not yet. He knows the stories. Death sounds like the next great adventure, a place where the unknown and legends and beliefs and religion and superstition and apathy all collide to make a mosh pit of surprise and awe. What a great metaphor.

He was twenty when the weight of the world crashed down on him. Literally.

Oh, Fred, nobody would find that funny. They'd probably cry. You need to take some things seriously, Fred, things like death. Nobody wants to flirt with Thanatos, Fred, you should know. So don't think things like this.

All in a split second.

His life flashes before his eyes, the way they say it does but he always thought it was a big lie.

Four, and he went to church for the first time with his family. They set the Sunday school teacher on fire somehow. Seamus Finnigan would've been proud.

When he was twenty…

Six, and he and George started showing signs of magic. When Charlie and Bill came home from Hogwarts for the holidays they had made Percy's books rewrite themselves with a special spell Bill learned from one of his Quidditch mates.

The end is near and he knows, but he'll be damned if he's going to let it slow him down.

Eight, and he and George had been baptized in the river. He'd jumped in, splashing the priest and gaining a collective laugh from the congregation. He hoped it didn't affect his redemption now.

He'll be damned if he's going to let it slow him down.

He wants to run, he wants to move, but everything is moving in slow motion, and he's staring Death straight in the eyes, waiting, waiting, and doing nothing but waiting.

Bloody hell, he never thought he'd go out like this.

Nine, and he had infuriated Percy to the point of screaming at them and telling them he hoped they died unruly deaths. He smiled a little. Poor Percy. Perce doesn't deserve this. He definitely doesn't deserve this on his conscience. That day Mum had screamed at us all, and Ginny had started to cry. It made us wonder what kind of family we were.

At least we're all together now. At least Percy's back now. It seems fitting for him to be here, with me, at these last few heartbeats.

When he was twenty the world crashed down on him. Not much longer to go.

He wants to see George again, he wants to tell him to take care of Angelina, and ask him why the bloody hell is time moving so slow, but dammit, he doesn't want George to see him die.

Eleven, and when he first went to Hogwarts he and George had met Lee in the dormitories and a glorious friendship unfolded from there.

Lee…Where is Lee…Is Lee okay…Is Lee…Lee…Help…Angelina…

When he'd been twelve he and George had become Beaters for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. What fun, what fun indeed. What he wouldn't do for a broom now. It might have saved his life.

Debris is beginning to fall, and he sees Harry's eyes widen, his mouth open to yell, but the sound doesn't reach him. It's like they're all moving through molasses.

Thirteen, and he met Harry and Hermione. Ron joined us at Hogwarts.

Ron…and Hermione… He hoped Ron told her… He'd give is left hand to make sure they lived happily ever after.

He feels tears sting his eyes. He'd do anything now to see that they lived happily ever after.

Fourteen, and Ginny was timid and shy and we helped her, we helped her make friends and we taught her a few tricks. Fourteen, and he kissed Katie Bell under the mistletoe at the Three Broomsticks the weekend before Christmas. Her lips had tasted like vanilla and later she'd told him his had tasted like smoke. He had tried smoking earlier that same day and nearly had an asthma attack.

Katie… Wasn't she pregnant? Why the hell is she here in Hogwarts, when the world is falling apart at the seams around us? Oliver needs to get her out of here…

The world really is falling apart. He sees dust begin to fly, life begin to speed up. He doesn't know how much longer he has. Maybe he's already gone. Maybe he's already ran out of time.

That's all he'd been, right? Just a timer, ticking down to the last breaths. Isn't that what we all are?

Fifteen, and we won the Quidditch cup. Oliver Wood cried like a baby and so did he and George.

_Oliver, George, don't cry for me. Please._

Sixteen. He and George made that ridiculous deal and lost their entire life savings, life savings we hadn't even worked for, given to us by hardworking individuals with integrity. And we concocted that stupid potion to win them back, despite Hermione's warning, and then… Then Cedric Diggory was dead…and that was the beginning…the beginning of the end… Sixteen, and Harry saved us. Harry was delusional and gave us money.

The store… Will George be able to handle it without him? Will George be able to handle anything without him?

Sixteen. That was the year he realized how pretty Angelina was, pretty in her own way. Not a knockout like Katie or hot like Alicia. She was different. Like Hermione. And that was the year he kissed her for the first time, and after the Yule Ball, he knew she was going to be the woman he would marry. Maybe not now. He feels tears wet his lashes, and he doesn't want it to end. He wants to keep joking with Percy about Pius Thicknesse, he wants this to last.

He was twenty when the world crashed down on top of him.

He shuts his eyes. Dammit. Dammit. He didn't want to leave now. He didn't want it. He felt ashamed at his selfishness. At how much he wanted and how much he didn't.

He'll be damned if he's going to let it slow him down.

Seventeen, and he and Angelina were still going strong and we kissed and made love and did things I know Bill and Charlie had done when they were in Hogwarts, things that I know Mum would disapprove of. Luckily Ron and Harry never found out, and Hermione decided to turn a blind eye. Seventeen, and his first "I love you." Seventeen, and George and I raised hell in the corridors. Seventeen, and I shouted awful, terrible things at Percy until we both lost our voices and he ran and so did we. We fled to Sirius.

He opens his eyes. Percy's eyes are alive with fear, with utter terror. He takes in the beams of light glowing around him, curses shooting through the room and caught in midair.

Eighteen, and he and George joined the Order. They raised enough hell in Hogwarts and decided they could raise some more. He had been eighteen when he saw someone killed right before his eyes, and that had been when he'd decided there was bad on both sides of the war. And he couldn't understand why anyone would kill someone.

Harry raises his wand, his arm moving slowly as if the air was made of gelatin. He wants it to speed up. He doesn't want to remember, doesn't want to see.

Nineteen, and Angelina and he had made plans for after the war, plans to marry and plans to seek a better world. They had lied down in the cool grass and stared up at the night sky, counting stars as if every flash of light would be the last they saw in their desperate lives. And they kissed and told eachother promises and held hands underneath the galaxies.

Nineteen, and George had been injured badly. Lost his ear. Worried the shit out of him. What he wouldn't do to be in the Burrow again. Nineteen, and they had lost Mad-Eye.

He opens his mouth. He wants to scream, wants to call out into the reckless world for everything to stop. But he doesn't have that kind of power. He doesn't have much time left.

Twenty. He'd been twenty for about a month.

He was twenty when the world crashed down on top of him.

Visions of ice cream on a hot August day, kisses in the rain, slamming his fists into the walls, hugs, holding hands, a dragonskin tuxedo, light escaping dusty curtains, fornication, his twin brother laughing, Hermione crying, a Beater's bat, Ron yelling all go through his mind.

The entire world is defeating him, but he'll be damned if it'll slow him down.

_Take care of them. Please. _

For the first time in a while he prays.

Twenty, and he shuts his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Twenty.


End file.
